And Every Morning The Way Home Gets Longer And Longer

“Noah’s feet don’t touch the ground when his legs dangle over the edge of the bench, but his head reaches all the way to space, because he hasn’t been alive long enough to allow anyone to keep his thoughts on Earth. His grandpa is next to him and is incredibly old, of course, so old now that people have given up and no longer nag him to start acting like an adult. So old that it’s too late to grow up. It’s not so bad either, that age.”

This passage uses spatial imagery to contrast childhood imagination with adulthood constraints, positioning Noah as intellectually expansive but not grounded in logic and reason. In contrast, Grandpa’s extreme old age frees him from social expectations of adulthood, suggesting that the beginning and end of life occupy similar imaginative states. The metaphor establishes space as a recurring symbol of freedom, thought, and identity throughout the novella.

“What do I say to Noah? How do I explain that I’m going to be leaving him even before I die?”

This moment captures the novella’s central tension between physical presence and cognitive absence. Grandpa’s fear lies not in death but in the emotional harm caused by his gradual disappearance, highlighting The Emotional Labor of Letting Go. The rhetorical questions emphasize the inadequacy of language in explaining illness, reinforcing the book’s reliance on metaphor and symbolism rather than direct exposition.

“The square is a perfect circle. The wind fights in the treetops; the leaves move in a hundred dialects of green; Grandpa has always loved this time of year. Warm winds wander through the arms of the hyacinths and small drops of blood dry on his forehead.”

The description of the square blends natural imagery with signs of physical injury, merging them in a surreal setting. The circular shape reinforces the square as a metaphorical representation of Grandpa’s mind—contained, ordered, yet increasingly fragile. The juxtaposition of hyacinths and blood reflects the coexistence of memory, love, and bodily decline, grounding the abstract metaphor in physical reality.

“Mathematics will always lead you home.”

Mathematics functions as both a motif and a symbolic language of certainty within the novella. For Grandpa, numbers represent stability, logic, and a navigational tool through confusion, contrasting with the emotional unpredictability of memory loss. The repeated invocation of mathematics underscores his attempt to preserve identity and orientation in a mind that is becoming increasingly unreliable.

“You never had time to teach me, Dad. You were always working. But you taught Noah, you’ve taught him everything. He’s the one who loves math, like you.”

Ted’s statement articulates the generational consequences of emotional absence and misplaced attention. It also highlights the theme of Love as an Anchor Against Cognitive Decline. The contrast between Ted and Noah highlights that while love and knowledge can be unevenly distributed across generations, they can be shared at any time. This moment introduces resentment as an undercurrent in the narrative, complicating the portrayal of Grandpa as a solely nurturing figure and deepening the theme of inherited emotional labor.

“Snow starts to fall in the square, the same way very small children cry, like it had barely started at first but soon like it would never end. Heavy, white flakes cover all of Grandpa’s ideas.”

Backman employs simile and personification to connect emotional overwhelm with environmental change, likening snowfall to a child’s escalating cry. The image of snow covering Grandpa’s ideas visualizes cognitive decline as a gradual but totalizing process, in which thoughts are obscured rather than abruptly erased. This moment reinforces the square as a metaphor that responds directly to Grandpa’s internal state.

“He always wants to know everything about school, but not like other adults, who only want to know if Noah is behaving. Grandpa wants to know if the school is behaving. It hardly ever is.”

This passage uses humor and a role reversal to characterize Grandpa’s lighthearted approach to authority. By shifting scrutiny from the child to the institution, Grandpa is presented as someone who values curiosity, fairness, and intellectual freedom over obedience. The line underscores the importance of intergenerational love, showing that Grandpa’s identity as a mentor and advocate persists even as his memory falters.

“Mathematics has blessed the boy in that sense, because he’s no longer afraid of the thing almost everyone else is terrified of: infinity.”

Infinity functions here as both a mathematical and existential concept, linking numerical abstraction to emotional resilience. Through mathematics, Noah gains comfort with vastness and uncertainty, contrasting with the fear that infinity inspires in most people. This moment positions logic as a way to navigate the unknowable rather than retreat from it.

“It hurts less and less. That’s one good thing about forgetting things. You forget the things that hurt too.”

This statement presents forgetting as both a type of loss and a source of relief, complicating conventional portrayals of memory decline as purely tragic. Backman uses understatement to emphasize the emotional trade-offs of forgetting, suggesting that pain fades alongside identity. The line directly engages the theme of Memory Loss as the Erasure of Identity, illustrating how erosion can simultaneously diminish suffering and selfhood.

“Grandpa leans toward Noah and breathes out like people do at the start of a long sleep; one of them is getting bigger and one of them is getting smaller, the years allow them to meet in the middle.”

The simile of sleep represents the idea of decline, framing Grandpa’s fading as a natural transition rather than an unfair tragedy. The imagery of expansion and contraction emphasizes the reciprocal nature of aging, as Noah’s growth coincides with Grandpa’s diminishment. This moment synthesizes Love as an Anchor Against Cognitive Decline with The Emotional Labor of Letting Go, presenting connection as something preserved intentionally despite change.

“I miss all out most ordinary things. Breakfast on the veranda. Weeds in the flower beds.”

This passage highlights the importance of mundane details through specificity, using simple domestic images to convey the depth of Grandpa’s sense of loss. By focusing on small daily pleasures rather than milestone events, the line highlights how grief often centers on the absence of everyday intimacy rather than grand moments.

“She got lost in my heart, I think. Couldn’t find her way out. Your grandma always had a terrible sense of direction. She could get lost on an escalator.”

This line compares falling in love to getting hopelessly lost, implying that falling in love happens accidently and can be at once simple and incredibly complex. Literalizing the metaphor by referencing Grandma’s poor sense of direction represents Grandpa’s characteristic self-deprecating humor and lightens the sentiment without undercutting its sincerity.

“Because if you forget me then you’ll just get the chance to know me again. And you’ll like that, because I’m actually a pretty cool person to get to know.”

Here, Noah offers Grandpa comfort through optimism and self-assurance, highlighting the theme of Love as an Anchor Against Cognitive Decline. His response demonstrates emotional maturity that exceeds his age. By presenting forgetting as an opportunity for reacquaintance rather than a failure, the line challenges conventional associations between memory and a relationship’s permanence.

“Ted, we’re not going into space because we’re afraid of aliens. We’re going because we’re scared we’re alone. It’s an awfully big universe to be alone in.”

This statement uses space as a metaphor for existential isolation. Grandma’s reminder emphasizes that fear in the novella is rooted in loneliness rather than the threat of external danger, connecting space to emotional vulnerability. The line bridges generational perspectives, linking Ted’s anger and Grandpa’s fear to a shared human anxiety.

“The lights are still there, the ones he strung up in a tangle on the outside of the boat so that Noah could always find his way if he woke up from a nightmare and needed to find his grandpa. A chaotic mess of green, yellow, and purple bulbs, as though Grandpa had been desperate for a poo when he put them up, so Noah would start laughing when he saw them. You can’t be afraid of crossing dark gardens if you’re laughing.”

Backman uses humor and visual chaos to interrupt the novella’s emotional intensity, offering laughter as a tool for narrative pacing as well as a coping mechanism. The deliberately messy lights symbolize Grandpa’s prioritization of emotional safety over order, transforming fear into play. This moment highlights The Emotional Labor of Letting Go by showing how joy can coexist with decline.

“But the universe gave you both Noah. He’s the bridge between you. That’s why we get the chance to spoil our grandchildren, because by doing that we’re apologizing to our children.”

Grandma positions Noah as a generational bridge, mediating unresolved tension between Grandpa and Ted. This metaphor acknowledges Grandpa’s regret while emphasizing the opportunity for healing rather than resentment. The line suggests that time can be redistributed and repaired across generations, but the parties need to make their intentions explicit. This points to The Emotional Labor of Letting Go.

“He chases his breaths between throat and chest.”

This brief, fragmented sentence mirrors Grandpa’s physical and emotional distress through syntax. The image of breath being “chased” conveys panic and bodily instability, grounding the abstract fear of loss in a visceral sensation. The line exemplifies Backman’s use of minimalism to convey intense emotion without exposition.

“Then the rain starts to fall, and the last thing he shouts to her is that he hopes he’s wrong. Dearly, dearly, dearly hopes. That she’ll argue with him in Heaven.”

Rain returns here as a symbol of grief and emotional release, marking Grandma’s disappearance from the scene. The repetition of “dearly” slows the rhythm of the sentence, emphasizing longing and uncertainty. This moment crystallizes Acceptance and The Emotional Labor of Letting Go, as Grandpa confronts doubt, faith, and hope without resolution.

“Me wetting myself in the ambulance. That’ll keep the bears away. There won’t be any bears in that ambulance for years!”

This line uses humor to interrupt fear at a moment of crisis, recalling an earlier reassurance Grandpa once offered Noah. The statement reframes a moment that could lead to humiliation as an intentional act of protection, allowing laughter to coexist with vulnerability. Grandpa is referencing the advice some campers give to urinate outside their tent so that the scent will signal their presence and keep wild animals away. By reintroducing this idea in the ambulance, Grandpa links it to the wilderness and foreshadows the green tent that appears in his hospital room at the end of the novella.

“We can walk down the road with him. We can keep him company.”

The metaphor of walking the road together transforms cognitive decline from a solitary journey into a shared one. This simple declarative sentence emphasizes companionship in the face of inevitability, reinforcing the novella’s focus on presence rather than finding a cure. Its understated tone reflects the emotional labor of acceptance.

“They stare at one another and breathe. Breathe and breathe and breathe. It’s a never-ending rage, being angry at the universe.”

Repetition in this passage’s syntax mirrors Ted’s emotional paralysis, slowing the rhythm of the text to reflect his exhaustion and grief. The fragmented sentences emphasize breath as the only remaining action, nonverbal but nonetheless shared. By naming anger at the universe rather than at each other, the line shifts the focus from Grandpa and Ted’s longstanding conflict to their enduring love in the face of uncertainty.

“Ted is almost at the door when Grandpa asks if he has his guitar with him.”

This understated moment carries emotional weight. Grandpa’s question surfaces at the threshold of separation, revealing that he is remembering Ted as a child rather than an adult. This jars the narrative out of its rhythm and signals the progression of Grandpa’s cognitive decline.

“There’s a hospital room at the end of a life where someone, right in the middle of the floor, has pitched a green tent.”

By repeating the novella’s opening line, Backman creates a circular narrative that mirrors the text’s thematic concerns with memory and return. The image of the tent reframes the hospital room as a space of intimacy and refuge rather than isolation while echoing the idea that the world outside the tent is a wilderness in which Grandpa is no longer safe.